


you may grow if you love someone

by stonesnuggler



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Relationship, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Polyamory, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/pseuds/stonesnuggler
Summary: Dylan’s pretty sure he hasn’t stopped smiling, cheeks hurting with it as he goes to kiss Connor again, hand coming up to cup his cheek but—“Hold on,” Connor says, eyes flicking to Dylan’s other wrist. “I think-- Wait, look.“Dylan furrows his eyebrows, looks at Connor, then his wrist. He thinks he’s imagining it at first, but it’s hard to ignore another red thread coming from his shirt sleeve, leading out the door next to -- Wait, is that two threads leading out the door?Without a word, Dylan shoves his sleeve up, then reaches for Connor’s, doing the same.Another thread. They both haveanotherthread.





	you may grow if you love someone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [void_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/void_fish/gifts).



> "i want... alex/dylan/connor fic for my birthday"
> 
> so it was requested, so it shall be done. happy birthday to my dear and lovely jay!! this was posted while it was still your birthday in the states, so it still counts. i love you dearly!!
> 
> huge thank you to ellie, lor, and gina for cheerleading this fic and motivating me!! 
> 
> title from love someone by lukas graham

 

Connor almost seems nervous as he fidgets where he sits across from Dylan on the floor, sighing as he says, “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

And the thing is, Dylan’s not entirely sure. It almost seems like too simple of a spell to do, at least for something this important. But he’s sure enough that he can feel it in the phantom tug on his wrist, and he has a feeling Connor already knows that.

Still, he shrugs as he portions out some powdered silver from the jar in his hand onto a spoon before handing it to Connor, who dumps it in the bowl between them. “It should. And if it doesn’t, we’ll be okay anyway.”

Connor seems reassured enough as he hands the spoon back, and Dylan sets it with the jar back on the tray on his desk, reaching for the talc. He uncorks the bottle, holds it out to Connor.

“Just a pinch of this,” Dylan says, and Connor obliges, sprinkling that on top of the silver. “I think that’s it.”

“Really?” Connor says, a little skeptical. “You don’t have to wave a wand or chant anything or--”

“Shut up, you know I don’t actually have a wand,” Dylan says with a roll of his eyes, shoving at Connor’s shoulder. It doesn’t do much but get Connor to laugh and Dylan to smile, a welcome distraction of maybe not being his soulmate after all.

The thing is, Dylan felt every textbook feeling that comes along with getting to see your thread when he met Connor. Looking back on it, he remembers how Connor looked confused at his own wrist as they shook hands on Dylan’s first day of camp, like he was expecting something, too. Dylan took the opportunity of mindless exercises to think over what he was taught in school about their red threads of fate -- how, sometimes, they don’t show up right away, even if you’ve met the person on the other end; how, sometimes, the first meeting isn’t _the_ meeting, when everything falls into place.

Regardless, visible thread or not, Connor and Dylan fell together anyway, and now -- nearly a year later -- something in his chest compelled him to look up this spell, to get the ingredients, to have Connor complete it with him, so they can prove once and for all that they’re at each other’s ends.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Dylan says, in the huff of a deep breath. He holds out his hand to Connor just over the bowl between them and Connor takes it, fingers fitting around Dylan’s wrist as Dylan does the same.

“Other hand like this,” he says, resting his thumb against the lip of the bowl, letting his fingers fall naturally around the curve of it. Connor follows, and Dylan can already feel the metal warm under his touch, hand twitching where his skin meets Connor’s. “Cool. For the rest of this, just close your eyes and don’t freak out, okay?”

And like, he knows Connor won’t freak out. He _hasn’t_ freaked out since Dylan first showed him what he could do, the things he was already capable of. There aren’t many people with abilities like Dylan’s, and Raddy is the only one on the team with even remotely close capabilities.

(One time, he sneezed and accidentally transformed his pencil into a quill, which was incredibly difficult to explain to everyone but Dylan, who just laughed and fished an extra pen from his bag.)

Connor squeezes Dylan’s wrist lightly, rubs his thumb over it.

“I won’t,” he says, soft and honest and spell be damned, the phantom thread on his wrist feels tight enough that if it were physically there, he’d be able to see the slightest indentation.

Connor is his person. He _knows_.

Dylan closes his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of the bowl warming on his fingertips. He can feel the soft glow that the materials are casting behind his eyelids, feel the warmth the glow is leaving on his and Connor’s arms where they’re linked above the bowl. It’s quiet, only the wind and Connor’s steady breaths to be heard, and Dylan sinks into it as he lets the warmth in his chest spread, spell almost complete.

After a moment, the warmth dissipates and Dylan blinks his eyes open, talc and silver still faintly glowing and red with ash as he looks in the bowl. Connor’s eyes are still closed and Dylan can’t help but smile at how much he trusts Dylan, how he was willing to do this, to help him with it. He hasn’t even pushed his sleeve up and checked his wrist yet but honestly, he doesn’t need to — Dylan believes in fate as much as the next person, but even if fate got this one wrong, Dylan sure as hell didn’t.

Small smile still on his lips, Dylan squeezes Connor’s wrist gently and says, “Okay, eyes open and only look at me.”

Connor’s eyes flutter open, meeting Dylan’s as their hands drop, and Dylan doesn’t want to guarantee anything but the phantom tug feels more real, more solid after seeing Connor’s eyes and—

“Nothing changes?” Connor asks, a condition from the talk they had before they even got the materials for the spell.

Dylan nods, clears his throat a little. “Nothing changes,” he confirms, then toys with the hem of his sleeve. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Connor says, reaching for his own sleeve.

Dylan takes a deep breath. “Okay, look.”

Connor tugs his sleeve up, and there lies the red thread, winding around his wrist in a stark contrast against his pale skin, loose end trailing on the floor in Dylan’s direction.

His chest is warm again, nothing about his magic causing it. It’s something all encompassing, something clicking in nearly the right way, if just a little off. He’s not paying too much attention to that ‘little bit off’ feeling though, choosing instead to sink into the fact that—

“Dyls,” Connor says, voice a little tight in the way it gets when he’s trying not to get too emotional. “You gotta look.”

“Shit, right,” Dylan says, reaching for his own sleeve and tugging it up to reveal his own thread.

Sure enough, it trails from his wrist to the ground, a central line from his right wrist to Connor’s left.

“I knew it,” Dylan says, soft and quiet as he thumbs at the thread. Connor stands, holding a hand out to Dylan and pulls him up and into a hug and Dylan instantly wraps his arms around him, picking him up off the ground for just a second. “I _knew_ it, Davo, didn’t I tell you?”

Connor laughs, bright and a shock to the silence, pulling away from Dylan just enough to kiss him. “You did,” he says, close enough where Dylan feels the words more than hears them. Dylan’s pretty sure he hasn’t stopped smiling, cheeks hurting with it as he goes to kiss Connor again, hand coming up to cup his cheek but—

“Hold on,” Connor says, eyes flicking to Dylan’s other wrist. “I think-- Wait, look.“

Dylan furrows his eyebrows, looks at Connor, then his wrist. He thinks he’s imagining it at first, but it’s hard to ignore another red thread coming from his shirt sleeve, leading out the door next to -- Wait, is that _two_ threads leading out the door?

Without a word, Dylan shoves his sleeve up, then reaches for Connor’s, doing the same.

Another thread. They both have another thread, how is this--

“Wait, can this actually happen?” Connor says, thumbing at the thread on his other wrist.

Dylan opens his mouth, then closes it again when he realizes he’s… not exactly sure. Instead he looks to the door where the two threads wind together before ducking under the gap.

“I guess so,” Dylan says around the lump in his throat, face still twisted with confusion as he sits on his bed.  

Connor follows, and then it’s quiet for a bit -- the kind of heavy quiet that teeters on the edge of good and bad, and it makes Dylan’s gut ache.

“Hey,” Connor says, knocking his shoulder against Dylan’s, just barely jostling. “Nothing changes, remember? I’m still in this with you.”

Dylan swallows, nods a couple times and bumps Connor back. His extra thread tugs a little and he can see Connor’s twitch on the ground next to his own.

“And you’re okay with this?” Dylan asks, brushing his finger over Connor’s thread that ties them together. “Like, adding another person in?”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t see why not,” he says. “Like, if it’s meant to be, then who am I to stop it?”

Dylan smiles a little at that. “If anyone could change fate, it would be you.”

“You’re the one with magic,” Connor says, a tired argument between them that always serves the purpose of getting Dylan to laugh. He presses a kiss to Dylan’s cheek, starting to trail them down his jaw as he says, “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Well, strap in, I guess,” Dylan says, leaning into Connor’s kisses, letting them fall back into his bed.

 

Later, just as Dylan knows Connor is going to slip into his usual satiated sleep, he pokes him in the side and says, “Hey, Davo.”

“You can’t call me Davo after all of that,” Connor says, eyes shut, a small smile on his face anyway.

Dylan smiles, but sighs a little after it, and that gets Connor to open his eyes. “What’s up, Dyls.”

“Nothin’,” he says, tracing easy patterns over Connor’s chest.  “I guess I’m just--”

“Nervous?” Connor finishes, drawing nearly identical patterns along Dylan’s shoulder blades. Dylan nods, tucks his face into Connor’s neck. “Nothing to be nervous about, babe. We’ll be good.”

Dylan takes a breath, takes his time letting it out. “All three of us?”

“All three of us,” Connor confirms.

//

When Dylan wakes up the next morning, Connor’s wrapped around his back, fingers and threads laced together where their hands are clasped against Dylan’s chest. He’s a little too warm, what with Connor-the-human-space-heater tucked in close, but he’s not complaining too much.

He sighs, brings their joined hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to Connor’s thumb, turns their hands over and presses a kiss to the center of his palm, over the worn callouses just below his knuckles.

Behind him, Connor stirs as he starts to wake up.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dylan says, lips still pressed against Connor’s hand. “Ready to go meet the rookies?”

“Fuck,” Connor grumbles, nuzzling into Dylan’s neck and Dylan can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles. “I guess.”

“That’s the spirit, Captain,” Dylan says, untangling himself from Connor, despite how much he wishes he could just stay wrapped up in bed with him for hours. “C’mon. Timmy’s on me if we get a move on.”

“Jen probably made coffee already,” Connor says, muffled from where he’s flopped forward, starfishing and smushing his face into Dylan’s pillow.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” says Dylan, tugging on a clean t-shirt before throwing Connor’s at him and heading to the bathroom.

They get ready for the day side-by-side, hip checking each other for the toothpaste, easy touches as they pack their bags, thread tangling closer together every chance they were close enough for it to. On their opposite wrists, their other thread is nearly taut, adding a bit of insistence into their morning routines.

“Boys, you’ll be late for the captains meeting if you don’t hurry up!” Dylan’s billet mom calls down the stairs, and a quick glance at Dylan’s alarm clock proves that to be true.

“Late with coffee time, or late-late?” Dylan calls back, and he swears he can almost hear her roll her eyes.

“ _Late_ -late,” Jen calls back. “I already made coffee for you. Move it.”

“I told you,” Connor says, pointing to the door. “Did I not tell you?”

Dylan rolls his eyes, jamming his feet into his sneakers as Connor shoulders his bag. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

They make their way upstairs where Jen herds them both off with kisses on the cheek, bagels that are maybe a little over-toasted, and a travel mug of coffee and then they’re off, following the tug at their wrists.

As soon as they’re in the car, the threads that connect them to this new soulmate wind together, meeting just below the gearshift and disappearing through the well under the stereo. Their hands -- and the thread connecting just the two of them -- are laced together on top of it, and Dylan can’t resist but squeeze Connor’s hand a little.

“I had a dream he was on the team,” Connor says. “The new one, I mean.”

Dylan hums, smiling a little as he turns a corner. “That would be nice,” he says. “He’d get it, then. The whole hockey thing.”

“Like fate would put us with someone who didn’t understand that,” Connor says, and well, he’s got a point. “I know it works in weird ways sometimes, but that’s just a non-starter.”

“Could you imagine if it did, though?” Dylan asks, a little amused as he sneaks a glance at Connor while at a stop light. “Like what if they weren’t a sports fan at _all_ and suddenly their thread connects them to the next hockey savior.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but he shakes his head with a smile as Dylan laughs.

They are _nearly_ late, just like Dylan suspected they’d be, but they do manage to pull into the parking lot of the rink with five minutes to spare.

The captains meeting goes well, as it’s just going over expectations and what they all think they can bring to the team.

“Go meet your team, boys,” Coach says, dismissing them, and Dylan doesn’t need to be told twice. Connor leads the pack and even from behind Geno, he can see their shared extra thread tugging them toward the locker room, and Dylan’s heart skips a beat before it starts hammering against his ribcage.

“He’s on the team,” Dylan says after he catches up to Connor, voice barely above a whisper as he holds his wrist up. “He has to be.”

Connor swallows, looks at their threads pulled taut and leading them into the locker room. “Holy shit.”

The room is almost full -- a smattering of guys from last year mixed in with their new draft picks -- and everyone’s pretty chatty, as is par for the course on the first day of camp.

There are smatterings of conversations that Dylan can hear. Bits and pieces about summer, about back home, and one starkly standing out about finding the other end of their thread.

That’s what pulls Dylan back to the wrist opposite of the one shared with Connor. The thread is pulled almost tight enough to be physically felt, but it’s faded to a translucent pink in contrast of the deep red around his other wrist. It’s crossing to the other end of the locker room, one of the corner stalls that’s got three people in close quarters.

“Yours too?” Connor says, nudging him and holding his other wrist out, and sure enough, Connor’s has faded too.

“Weird, right?” Dylan agrees. “I wonder if--”

“ _There_ are my favorite old marrieds!” Betzy crows, planting himself right in between Dylan and Connor. “Good, you guys need to meet the newest member of the Michigan boys.”

Dylan groans, shoves at Betzy enough to jostle him back to his feet. “There are _more_ of you?”

“I’m wounded, Stromer, really,” Betzy says, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Brinksy, get over here!”

Across the room, one of the guys squeezed into the corner stall perks up, excuses himself from whatever conversation was happening and makes his way over. Something in Dylan’s chest stirs as he gets closer, feeling like radio static behind his ribs.

The guy is tiny when he stands next to Betzy -- Dylan wouldn’t put him at any taller than five-seven -- but he’s smiling and there’s something about it that makes his stomach flip.

Chancing a glance at Connor, he looks how Dylan feels.

“Boys, this is Brinksy,” Betzy introduces, tossing an arm over the guy’s shoulder. “Brinksy, this is our _esteemed_ captain, Davo, and his partner in crime, Stromer.”

“Alex,” Brinksy says, as Betzy wanders away to terrorize someone else. He looks vaguely amused as he holds his hand out to Connor. “Brinksy works, too.”

Dylan can see the split second of hesitation before Connor takes his hand, shakes it and says, “Connor. Davo’s fine, too, though.”

It takes a second to click, but when it does, Dylan can almost feel it through Connor. His thread brightens again, snaking through mid air to wrap around Alex’s wrist and tying itself off, and Alex’s eyes widen, flicking from his wrist to Connor’s, then finally settling in a small smile as he meets Connor’s eyes.

“Great to meet you,” Alex says, and Dylan can’t help but smile at the sincerity. Connor’s face breaks into a slow smile, cheeks coloring, and Dylan can’t wait to feel what he’s feeling.

Connor must sense that, because he takes his hand away from Alex’s, clears his throat and looks to Dylan, smile still bright.

“Guess that makes me the partner in crime,” Dylan provides, holding his own hand out. “I’m Dylan, but mostly Stromer.”

Alex takes his hand and shakes it, and the warmth that blooms from the center of Dylan’s chest to the tips of his fingers is exactly what he felt with Connor, but tenfold.

“Holy shit,” Alex says under his breath, watching the thread deepen from Dylan’s wrist and wrap around his own, tying itself off. He looks at Dylan, confusion evident as he sees the thread connecting Dylan to Connor. “Wait, but— Oh, holy _shit._ “

Connor laughs, light and easy. “Yeah, that’s what we thought.”

“Wow,” Alex says, small smile as he drops Dylan’s hand, almost an afterthought. “I mean, I've heard this can happen, I just never thought it actually _could,_ you know?”

Connor perks up at that. “What do you mean?”

Alex scoffs, quirks an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you’ve never seen all the shit about Edmonton’s kid line.”

Dylan laughs, because he knows Connor’s seen it. He was the one to show it to him, before any of this became a possibility.

Fate, he supposes. Weird mother fucker.

Coach K comes in then, clapping his hands together to get the room’s attention, and Alex doesn’t hesitate in sitting between them instead of making his way back to his stall.

The energy between them is almost electric, and Dylan can feel it buzzing under his skin. He only just met the kid, but Dylan wants to pull Alex into his arms and never let go of him, so much he’s a little giddy with it.

“Alright,” Coach is saying, when Dylan finally tunes back in. “Let’s get out there and show me what you can do. Welcome to the Otters, boys.”

/

Day one of camp kicks their ass six ways to Sunday, and Dylan can feel it in every ice cream date and half-assed leg day he managed this summer. It wasn’t many, but even then, he’s exhausted by the time he falls into his stall well after everyone else, too beat to even think about unlacing his skates.

“Look pretty tired for someone who’s so slow, Stromer,” Derms taunts, followed by a tape ball hitting him in the knee that Dylan is sure was aimed for his face.

“Oh, fuck off,” Dylan says, smiling as he throws the ball back. “You don’t need speed in snipe city, but I guess you wouldn’t know that.”

The room reacts to that one, and Dylan laughs with them before finally getting enough wind back in his sails to at least get his gear off.

Connor’s next to him after he gets his jersey over his head, tossing it into the bin in the middle of the room. He’s already out of his gear, just in basketball shorts and a worn out Otters t-shirt that Dylan is pretty sure is his.

One way or another, it was probably fished from Dylan’s floor at some point.

“Remember how the Santos’ told you they were taking in another billet kid?” Connor says without preamble, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips.

Dylan quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought he was coming today.”

“He is,” Connor says, smiling wide now, looking over Dylan’s shoulder at—

“Hey, roomie,” Alex says, plopping down in the stall next to Dylan’s. “Mind if I ride home with you guys?”

Dylan knows he’s in too deep at the way his heart jumps at how _home_ rolls so easily off Alex’s tongue.

“You’re kidding,” Dylan says, a smile making its way to his lips. “Holy shit, that’s fuckin’—“

“Fate?” Connor and Alex offer, in unison. Dylan shakes his head, amused.

“Guess so,” he says. “We were gonna stop for food after this, so you’re coming with.”

Alex smiles, a little more shy from the ones Dylan’s seen from him today, but he nods anyway. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you in the hall.”

He nudges Dylan’s shoulder as he gets up and heads toward the showers, leaving Connor and Dylan at their stalls.

“We’re gonna talk things through at dinner, yeah?” Connor asks, and Dylan nods.

“Kinda sorta first date, I figured,” Dylan says. “I can already tell he fits perfectly.”

“God, I know,” Connor sighs with a smile, shaking his head. “You two were unstoppable out there today.”

Dylan beams at the praise, ducking his head as he feels the heat rise to his cheeks.

Connor gets pulled away for something then, leaving Dylan to finally get his shit together and get undressed and showered. He’s got one towel wrapped around his waist, another hanging across his shoulders as he heads toward the stalls.

He doesn’t even realize that it’s Alex he runs into as he makes his way in the room until he catches his eye, skin still red and steam following him.

“Hurry up,” Alex says, eyes flicking up to meet Dylan’s for just a second before walking backwards through the threshold. “I’m starving.”

Dylan smiles, shaking his head as he walks into the steam.

 

/

 

The car ride to dinner is comfortable, and Connor even lets Alex take the front seat as they head to their usual spot.

It’s nothing fancy, just a pizza place that happens to have the best fettuccine alfredo Dylan has managed to find that’s actually not, like, Olive Garden. Connor always opts for pizza, and he conveniently only gets things on it that both he and Dylan like.

Alex is easy to add into the equation, and they’ll gladly put whatever he wants on the pizza. This time at least.

They’re just barely settled in, drinks and food ordered, when Alex clears his throat.

“So, I just want to--” Alex starts, toying with the edge of his napkin. “What’s going to happen, here?”

Connor shrugs, considering. “Whatever you want to happen, honestly.”

Alex tilts his head, eyebrows a little furrowed, so Dylan elaborates.

“Obviously, Connor and I are boyfriends, but if you just want to be in this platonically, that’s cool,” he says, careful to school his tone into something neutral, something not giving away how much he would like it if Alex _didn’t_ want something platonic. “It’s also cool if you want it to be romantic. We talked about it when we, uh-- it’s a long story, but we kind of knew you’d be coming, so we’re all in.”

“We’ve got time,” Alex says, settling into a small smile. “What’s this story?”

Dylan smiles a little, then tells Alex all that he can -- a brief on the fact of his magic, about his and Connor’s hunch that they were connected, about the spell. Alex seems captivated as Connor and Dylan tag team the story, playing off each other as they usually do, and by the time they’ve finished the rundown, Alex is smiling. Just a small thing, barely an upturn of the corners of his lips, but Dylan can see it, feel it in the small warmth deep in his chest.

“Did you know it was me?” he asks, a little quiet.

“Didn’t have a clue,” Connor says. “Not until we got to the rink.”

“We had a hunch you’d be on the team,” Dylan provides. “But no idea it would be you.”

Alex nods, opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by their food arriving. He thanks the waitress with a bright smile, and she’s noticeably charmed, and Dylan can’t blame her. That smile is something else.

“I think,” Alex starts, unrolling his napkin, then pauses. “I’m leaning toward the less platonic side of things, if that’s okay.”

Dylan’s stomach swoops and he can already tell he’s got a dopey grin on his face, if the fond eyes Connor’s got directed at him mean anything.

“We’d like that,” Connor says, his own soft half-smile on his face. “It was always considered a possibility.”

Alex smiles, a little bashful. “Like, I know it’s early, like you guys literally just met me today, but it just— I already feel like I fit, you know?”

Dylan takes a sip of his water, just to have something to do with his hands and nods. “I think I knew it was Connor the day I met him,” he admits with a shrug. “And this feels similar.”

“That’s so fucking sappy, you fucking marshmallow,” Connor laughs, but he’s blushing, so Dylan’s done his job properly. Alex is even laughing, that perfect stomach-swooping smile in full force, and Dylan’s whole body feels warm with the happiness of it all.

“Okay, enough of this sappy shit,” Alex says. “Food.”

Dylan laughs, kicking at Alex’s feet under the table, pleasantly surprised to find his ankle already hooked with Connor’s.

 

/

 

Connor doesn’t have to be back at his own billets until about ten or so — there’s always been wiggle room when it comes to Dylan — so it’s an easy decision to head back to Dylan’s after dinner.

Dylan and _Alex’s_ , he supposes.

“I’ve got so much unpacking to do,” Alex gripes after they get into the house, like continuing to move is the last thing he wants to do.

“We can help,” Dylan offers. “It can’t be too much, right?

Alex shrugs. “I don’t want to make you guys do that,” he says. “It’s mostly just clothes.”

“Good thing we’re offering,” Connor says. “Or even if you just want company, we can hang in your room.”

Alex smiles at that, the shy one that shows that he’s not quite used to this yet. Dylan’s not sure he’s used to it either, but every minute they spend with him, it’s becoming easier and easier to see how perfectly Alex fits into this.

“That’s be nice,” Alex says, heading down the stairs to his and Dylan’s room.

So, that’s what they do. Dylan sprawls across Alex’s half-made bed — the sheets are on but the comforter is probably on the ground — while Connor helps Alex tuck his clothes into drawers.

There’s a playlist playing in the background, but Dylan couldn’t tell you what’s playing because he’s more interested in the easy conversation that’s flowing between them.

They learn about Alex’s family and his life at Lake Forest Academy. About how much faith he has in the Red Wings and why he decommitted from UMass. About his interest in magic and the subtle ways their threads pulled him to Erie.

“I barely even thought about it before I agreed to sign here,” Alex says, folding the last t-shirt in his suitcase and shutting the drawer and sitting at the center of his bed near Dylan’s hips. “That should’ve been my first clue. I had my heart set on UMass, but then Erie became an option and I just… went.”

Dylan smiles, holds his hand out in front of him as he watches the thread connecting him and Alex wind between his fingers. “Guess the universe had different plans for you.”

“Can’t say I’m mad about it,” Connor says, dopey grin on his face as he completes their triad by sitting next to Alex.

“Me either,” Alex says, then lays on his stomach, nestled close to Dylan, who’s doing everything in his power to not just tug Alex into his arms.

“We’ve got time for Mighty Ducks before I have to head out,” Connor offers, laying on his side next to Alex, propping his head up with his hand as he leans into the pillows. “First day of camp tradition?”

Alex tilts his head, makes a considering face before nodding. “I could go for that,” he says, moving to grab his computer from his backpack before settling back in.

It’s Dylan who hums in disagreement, earning a strange look from Connor.

“I was thinking a different movie, maybe,” Dylan says. “Start a new tradition.”

“Are you both always this fucking sappy?” Alex says, but his cheeks are pink and that doesn’t do much to change how much Dylan wants to press kisses right to the tops of them.

Connor smiles, shrugs a little. “I’d try to get used to it, if I were you.”

“Twist my arm,” Alex says, snuggling in closer as he searches his way through his movies before opening Miracle, perfectly settled between Dylan and Connor.

 

“Dyls, I gotta go,” Connor is saying as Dylan slowly blinks awake. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’s got his head resting on Alex’s chest and an arm thrown over Alex’s waist, meaning he must’ve been out long enough to move.

He’s a little groggy when he picks his head up, but he’s with it enough to see Alex smiling at him, to feel Alex’s arm across his shoulders, hand sweeping over his back.

“Have a nice nap?” Alex asks, smirking just a little.

Dylan hums, nuzzles back into Alex a little. “Had a pretty nice pillow for it, so I’d say so.”

“You’re making it really hard for me to leave, I hope you know,” Connor says, poking Dylan’s cheek. “Come walk me out, I’m gonna bike home.”

“You sure?” Dylan asks, moving to get up albeit reluctantly. Alex pushes himself up after Dylan is off of him, and they’re all moving a little clumsily as they get up. “I can drive you home.”

“It’s a ten minute ride,” Connor says, “and you’re still sleepy enough that you probably shouldn’t drive.”

Dylan shrugs, because he’s got a point, and then they’re on their way up the stairs to see Connor out.

“You’ll text us when you get home?” Alex asks, leaning against the door as Connor gets his shoes on.

“He’d better,” Dylan says behind a yawn. “I mean, I’ll probably be asleep. But, still.”

“I will,” Connor assures them, stepping forward to pull Dylan into a hug. Still warm with sleep, Dylan lets himself sink into it for just a second before Connor pulls back, moving to hug Alex. He fits so perfectly in Connor’s arms, and Dylan’s sure he’ll never tire of the sight.

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from, but he speaks before he chickens out. “I know we met, like, today,” he starts, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “But I really want to kiss Connor goodbye and I don’t want you to feel left out, like, ever. So if you want to kiss him I think you should do that.”

Alex’s eyes widen, just a little, just enough where Dylan’s thinking of taking it all back, of just letting them all forget this ever happened. He’s not very good with time altering yet, but he’d make a valiant effort at it if it meant nobody had to deal with him being an absolutely bumbling--

“Really?” Alex says, an edge of hope in his tone, and Dylan’s mind goes blank for just a second.

Connor smiles, reaches for Alex’s hand and Dylan watches their thread twine between their fingers. “If you want.”

That’s all the confirmation Alex needs, really, to get closer to Connor and push up to his tip toes, fitting their lips together soft and easy and Dylan feels it warm his chest like the first sip of hot cocoa after coming in from the snow. Warm and melty and so, _so_ perfect.

When they pull apart, Alex’s cheeks are pink and he’s got his lower lip tucked between his teeth, a shy smile in the upturn of his lips.

Connor sighs, content as he presses another kiss to Alex’s forehead before wrapping him into another hug.

“Wow,” Dylan manages, soft and under his breath, letting the warmth bloom in his chest.

Then Alex’s eyes are trained on him, and Dylan can feel the spark inside him that comes so infrequently that he almost forgets its significance. That is, until Alex says, “now you’re the one getting left out,” and takes the one step to close the space between them.

Dylan’s heart soars as Alex kisses him. He barely registers Connor’s soft laugh in the background, the feeling of something soft landing on his face, his eyelashes. Alex is smiling against his lips before pulling back, looking up at the soft falling snow, and Dylan can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about it.

“Is it-- It’s _snowing_ ,” Alex says, amused as the last few flakes fall onto his face.

“Happened during our first kiss, too,” Connor says, shrugging as he puts his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Dylan’s a little bashful, then, as he usually is when he has enough feelings for his magic to happen of its own accord.

“That’s so fucking cool,” Alex says, looking between Connor and Dylan like this is exactly where he wants to be. “Dylan, that’s _awesome_.”

“You should check your pocket,” Connor says, not giving Alex a chance to question it before pulling Dylan toward him and finally kissing him, soft and sweet. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Dylan confirms, stealing one more chaste kiss and then Connor’s through the door and unlocking his bike.

“Check my pocket?” Alex asks as they watch Connor ride off before shutting the door and heading back through the house, down to their room.

Dylan shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck.

“The first time Connor and I kissed, there was, uh--” Dylan starts, then laughs a little. “Well, there was the snow, but also another thing.”

Alex quirks an eyebrow as lays on his side on his bed. He still hasn’t reached into his hoodie pocket, where Dylan knows what’s waiting for him. In any case, he sits on Alex’s bed again, not even bothering to head to his own on the other side of the wall.

Dylan takes a breath, then continues. “He got home and went to go set his wallet down and there was, like, this little flower. And we both had to look it up, because what the fuck do we know about plants, right?”

Alex laughs at that, and his hand wanders to the pocket of his hoodie, but doesn’t go in.

“It was a forget-me-not,” Dylan says, and he can see the picture of the first one that ever appeared clear in his head, a blurry Snapchat with Connor’s hideous green comforter in the background. “I think I was just, like, worried that it was going to be a one-off thing, since we were such good friends beforehand, you know?”

Alex hums, and he’s looking at Dylan like he could hang off every word he says, like he could listen to Dylan talk about his dumb plant magic forever.

“But, uh,” Dylan continues. “Obviously that was me just being dramatic, because everything worked out. But, yeah. Check your pocket.”

Alex finally puts his hand into his hoodie pocket, and Dylan can see the little glimpse of surprise as his fingers catch on the soft petals, but when he brings his hand out, it’s not a forget-me-not.

“A daffodil,” Alex says, smiling softly as he twirls the stem.

Dylan reaches out, brushes the tip of his finger over the yellow petals, bright contrast to the evening light of their room. It’s smaller than a typical daffodil, but just as beautiful.

“New traditions all around, I guess,” Dylan says, and he barely has time to smile before Alex is kissing him, soft and sure.

 

/

 

“So you didn’t plan that at all?” Connor is saying, looking at his most recent forget-me-not next to Alex’s daffodil where they sit on their picnic blanket.

“I didn’t know I could just make flowers appear out of nowhere, Davo,” Dylan says, for what feels like the fifth time since they got to the park. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about color schemes.”

Alex laughs from where he’s got his head resting in Dylan’s lap, the early fall sunshine hitting his cheeks, making his eyes even brighter. “Dude, they’re _Erie_ colors.”

“Take it up with fate!” Dylan crows. “I didn’t have anything to do with it!”

Next to him, Connor shrugs a laugh, leaning back against bent elbow, laying a hand on Dylan’s, and shutting his eyes, letting the sun warm his face.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m a pretty big fan of her work,” Connor says, squeezing Dylan’s fingers in his own.

“Same,” Alex agrees, looking up at Dylan through his lashes.

It doesn’t snow, not this time, but Dylan does feel the sun get a little bit brighter.

  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm @debrinkitten on twitter, come talk to me about dumb floral soulmate boys (just shoot me a dm before u request and say you're from the archive!)


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